The Field Trip
by ruth baulding
Summary: There's no point in a field trip if you don't encounter obstacles. A nice little school outing in the GFFA.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: This one inspired by a tantalizing mention of firebeetles in Karen Miller's novel Wild Space. In her highly entertaining story, Obi Wan refused flat out to share any details about the experience. So I decided to do it for him. -r.b._

**The Field Trip**

* * *

><p><strong>Day 1<strong>

They landed on the Ba-Tanaab peninsula, a barren wilderness stretching into the lonely planet's dark salt seas from the rocky main continent like some misshapen limb. They watched the landscape grow closer from behind the viewport, huddled together in excitement..and perhaps a little trepidation. Closer, and closer it came, until finally their mysterious destination swept up to meet them in a flashing parade of grasses, and monstrous boulders, and barren plains cut by sharp jagged hills thrusting knife-like from the dry earth. The Force tautened with their combined expectation.

"You Padawans will stay aboard the ship until we send you the signal," Master Pertha said. "You all understand the objective and the rules of this exercise?"

A chorus of "Yes, master" and "I understand, master" followed this solemn inquiry. Obi Wan Kenobi merely nodded, his gaze trained on Qui Gon, standing a pace or two behind the speaker, with the other masters. He understood the rules and the object very well, but he had no idea what lay ahead in the famous wild lands of Tanaab 4. He had never seen the world before; nor would he have much of a chance to do so now. The exercise was to be conducted blindfolded.

The young Padawan glanced left and right, at the group of other Jedi students flanking him. They were all older than he was, more experienced. Their thin braids hung low, weighted with beads and colored bindings. Every one of them was considered highly skilled by his or her respective master. Otherwise, they would not be here on this field trip. This exercise was intended to be challenging. They had been warned of _obstacles._ He knew that he must find one of seven small training probes released into the environment fifteen minutes ahead of the seekers. He was aware that it would require great Force mastery to locate such a small and non-living quarry in the unfamiliar and wide open terrain. But he was also aware that Qui Gon Jinn had requested that he be included, had recommended him to Master Pertha as one worthy and capable of the task. Whether or not Obi Wan believed this himself, Qui Gon's confidence made it true.

"Keep your focus in the present moment, young one," Qui Gon told him as he fastened the blindfold in place.

"Yes, master."

Qui Gon tugged gently on his short braid. "Do not underestimate the difficulty of this task, Obi Wan."

"Yes, master."

But this would be easy. He might be the youngest of the group, but he and Qui Gon had already seen more wonders and escaped more perils than he could easily count. In their single year together, he had already made grievous mistakes and regretted them; confronted more than one traitor and lived to tell the tale; been captured and then escaped; flown into battles and away from catastrophe; racked his wits, honed his swordsmanship, and discovered more about the Living Force than he could ever have imagined. Life as Qui Gon's apprentice far outdid any field trip for sheer intensity and challenge, and scarcely left any room to breathe. So what could this expedition possibly contain that would even come close to measuring up? He was fearless and confident.

The masters departed, fanning out over the designated area, some to establish a camp at the appointed place some ten or fifteen klicks distant; some to take up posts as referees and observers, others to release the hovering droids. Inside the ship, eight young bodies tensed and shifted, tension ratcheting up steadily as the long minutes dragged by. Blindfolded already, they could see nothing but what the Force showed them. A few murmured a greeting or encouragement to a comrade.

"May the Force be with you."

"And you. I only hope I won't be the last one back to camp tonight."

"Do you remember Dragoon two years ago? "

"Shh. You'll scare…others."

ObiWan scowled. He knew to whom they referred. He didn't require coddling, especially from other Padawans. For that matter, he could probably relate a few tales to make certain individuals' lekku stick out straight from their heads….But that was an unbecoming thought. Focus.

At last they received the pre-arranged signal. Down the boarding ramp they leapt, blindfolded and eager, onto the hard gritty surface of Tanaab 4 and into the unknown. Each of them hesitated only a moment before streaking off on eight different vectors in pursuit of their various targets.

Obi Wan ran easily across the dry plain - the wind in his face, the pale sun warm on his skin, dry grasses and crumbling dirt crunching solidly beneath his boots. He was connected to everything on the plain through the Force; though the distant probe droid had no life energy of its own, it left a ripple of disturbance as it passed flora and fauna, even here in the sparse wilderness. Life stirred and eddied in its wake, and he followed without hesitation. In some ways, he realized, this hunt was made easier by the empty, abandoned environs. There was nothing here to interfere with his concentration, nothing to disrupt that delicate trail in the Force. He grinned. Qui Gon would not be disappointed today. The rumors that he had saved his new apprentice from the Agricultural Corps out of misplaced pity would come to an abrupt and resounding _halt._

He reached out toward the probe across the wide expanse. There was no distance; distance was an illusion. He found the tiny fleeing object, wrapped the Force about it, pulled it backward toward himself, slowing its flight, reeling it in gently, gently, inexorably into his grasp as he ran full tilt to catch it. He could feel its flight path waver, slow, begin to curve round back in his direction, making an enormous arc as its programming conflicted with his Force command. He altered course slightly to intercept it at the zenith of this curve. Perhaps a quarter klick ahead, and he would have it. He jumped over a fallen log which loomed up beneath him, dodged a boulder or two jutting suddenly out of the ground, his concentration unwavering. Why chase after something when you could make it come to you? He felt as though the droid were in his grasp already; after capturing it, he would return to the rendezvous point, the location of their first night's camp here on the peninsula. He would present the probe to the referee, well ahead of the expected time allotment. He could imagine Qui Gon's praise and admiration. The tall Jedi master would be proud of his apprentice, whom he had been at first so reluctant to accept.

Without warning, the ground gave way beneath hsi feet.

He fell headfirst and heavily into a natural pit, soft dust and rocks cascading down on him as he somersaulted gracelessly to the bottom. Blindfold askew, knocked flat on his back, he lay stunned for a moment. A hot flash of embarrassment, at not having used the Force to save himself or at least to break the precipitous fall.

Then the beetles attacked. It was a firebeetle pit, of course, and its denizens rushed to the feast with a ready appetite. Each one almost ten centimeters long with a ridged armor-like carapace, a deep velvety black with fiery sparks inlaid in its grooves, armed with a pair of razor sharp mandibles and six gripping legs, they vied to be the first to rip into whatever fleshed thing had plummeted into their trap.

He could feel their mindless, gnawing frenzy in the Force- a single hive mind, multiplied into the thousands as through a lens, surging toward him from every direction, onto him, over him, devouring and annihilating, thirsty for his blood, a black army of boundless hunger. They scuttled and bit into his legs, arms, back, neck, chest, face, heedless of the layers of cloth which provided little protection. He screamed in horror and clawed them off, writhing backward into yet more of them issuing in a gush from their hidden underground tunnels. They poured over his body without mercy, every one that could reach his flesh leaving a kiss of pure fire as they ate. Pure, undiluted fear washed over him in a poisonous wave, at once crippling and frenzying. The Force began to slip from his grasp, elusive, as panic flayed at his mind.. He fought, but despair claimed him, tearing at his heart as the beetles tore at his flesh, seeking to consume him alive.

"Help! Qui Gon! Help me!" He never knew whether he uttered the words aloud or not. There was a sudden wave of power; the beetles abated for a moment in confusion and made a momentary retreat back toward the tunnels, answering some mysterious primal command issued into their dim collective mind. A voice overhead was shouting at him.

"_Jump,_ you young fool! Now!"

…and he leapt clear, propelled by adrenaline and the Force, and landed on the edge of the pit. Qui Gon grabbed an arm to steady him, but his knees gave way nonetheless. He was trembling uncontrollably and sobbing for breath. Qui Gon crouched and waited, holding onto his arm firmly but saying nothing. It took a long few minutes for Obi Wan to regain mastery of himself.

"I'm sorry, master," he gasped out when he was able. "That was stupid."

"Yes, it was," Qui Gon agreed soberly.

"I am glad you were nearby," he offered, by way of gratitude.

"I had a feeling something like this might happen," Qui Gon explained.

If possible, that stung worse than the innumerable burning, painful places where the beetles had torn into him. He felt warm blood trickle and ooze from a hundred tiny wounds all over his body. He gritted his teeth against the pain, and against the disappointment and shame. His master had _expected _him to fail all along; probably the whole point of this exercise was to show him his own weakness and folly. Well, it had certainly worked.

"The exercise isn't over yet," Qui Gon said, answering his thoughts, and refastening the blindfold securely, perhaps even a bit roughly. "Now get going."

_What? _He stood and turned his back on the tall Jedi. Defeat and humiliation crashed down on him with blunt force. He ran, without a word of parting, far and fast, to escape Qui Gon's disappointment, the firebeetles, his own stupidity. He drove himself harder and harder, until his pulse drummed wildly in his own ears and the rough ground rolled away beneath his feet, a continuous blur of speed. Of course there was no escape. He carried his own mistakes within, and the firebeetles he now carried without, in every burning, stabbing point of fire on his body. He ran , a long long time, until he was out of breath and exhausted, cursing the training which gave him such stamina. Finally he dragged to a halt. It seemed he could hear the beetles' screeching voices, laughing at him in their hungry assault. He saw himself fall endlessly, repeatedly, into a pit that now had no bottom- a pit of pride and arrogance and stupidity. He collapsed wearily onto the ground, immobilized by an emotion he did not really have a name for. He should not even be a Padawan at all.

Silence. The Force surrounded him, pervaded him. It flowed through even the lowliest of its servants, the simplest of its manifestations.

It was quiet out here on the barren plain, in the desolation of nature and his heart.

The Force whispered to him. _Duty, without thought of success or failure. Duty, without thought of past or future. Duty, without thought of self._ He had learned the words to the mantra as a small child. Never before had they conveyed such stark, cruel meaning, such command.

On a long breath he heaved his protesting body upward, drank deeply from the water canteen he carried, and began to search for the blasted, star-forsaken, son-of-a-Sith probe droid. The sun was well past meridian.

The ensuing search took all afternoon; it was a long time before he was even certain where the droid might be. It had wandered away far into the uneven hills while he had wasted precious time running aimlessly. Now his task became grueling, demanding prolonged concentration and a great deal of climbing and clambering over rocks trees and cliffs in the uneven foothills. The pain from the firebeetle bites spread like a slow underground lava flow until the separate points melted into one throbbing miasma. He sought refuge in action.

At last he managed to locate the droid, high in the stone-scattered contours of the hills. He ran it to ground, cornered it, captured and deactivated it, and heaved a sigh of relief. Clipping the lightweight object to his belt, and pulling the sweat-soaked blindfold off his face, he began the long, slow descent toward the rendezvous point. The setting sun cast weird shadows among the shards and walls of rock. A cold wind picked up, but its icy caress did not cool him. Dully he wondered whether the firebeetles were still eating at his flesh….Pain, poisonous fire, had moved deeper, into his blood, bringing fever and delirium.

He plodded on and on, until the sun set. Until night blanketed the land and the stars came out in the sky above. Until he was aware only of his shaking limbs, and the waves of heat washing over his skin, and the need to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

He arrived at the campsite well after nightfall, half-stumbling his way to the place where the appointed referee, Master Pertha, sat cross-legged outside the circle of firelight. The other –successful – Padawans were gathered there already, speaking in low voices and causing the flames to playfully leap or spin or gutter. They tried not to stare, out of politeness, but he could feel their curiosity, pity, censure, through the Force. The scent of food was in the air, but he had no appetite as he wordlessly handed in the droid.

"Good. We are all present and accounted for, then. I am glad to see that you made it back," Master Pertha said as Obi Wan dropped the deactivated droid into his outstretched hand.

The words seemed empty, mocking, but he was too tired to care.

"Thank you, master," he said in a flat voice, and turned, dizzily, to find the shelter which he and Qui Gon would share. Mercifully, it was removed from the main circle a short distance. Qui Gon was standing outside the small thermal tent.

"Master," Obi Wan muttered, shuffling forward and presenting himself for inspection.

Qui Gon tilted his chin up with one hand and studied him with searching grey eyes. "Here," he said at last, proferring a container of bacta and a small dark bottle of liquid. "The local remedy, for the fever and blood poisoning. Bacta to heal the cuts."

Obi Wan nodded once, accepting the medical supplies, and entered the shelter.

Inside, it was warm. The fabric of the collapsible walls fluttered gently in the cold night breeze. The light of the fire flickered dully beyond, creating shifting and diaphanous veils of light. He was so tired he merely sat and gazed at the soft spectacle for a long minute, his mind uncoiling in the aftermath of the ordeal. After a while he roused himself far enough to remove his tunics and tend to his hurts. The "local remedy," choked down with a splutter and a gasp, only seemed to redouble the pain and set his head to spinning. Biting back a moan, he laid down and endured the unpleasant sensation, suppressing even the remotest hint of a whimper. After all, he did not deserve sympathy from anyone, including himself. _At least I can fail like a Jedi,_ he thought.

The tent flap rustled. "That's taking it a bit far, don't you think?" Qui Gon commented wryly.

Obi Wan rolled over and frowned up at him miserably. "I'm sorry, master."

Qui Gon shook his head. He found the unopened container of bacta and punctured its seal. "Let me see the damage." He set to work on the hundred or so tiny wounds, silently rubbing the miraculous substance into each cut, sometimes pausing to check for dirt or signs of infection.

"Master…"

Qui Gon set the supplies aside. He laid a hand on his apprentice's forehead, making an assessment through the Force. "Your success today was astonishing."

"What?" Obi Wan scowled again, shivering. "But…I fell into that pit. I wasted time on the plains. I …I ran away. I was the last one back…"

Qui Gon's eyebrows rose slightly."Yes; overconfidence is a failing. Also, not remembering the present moment. That is what landed you in the beetle pit. However, there are much worse, invisible obstacles one might encounter. Shame. Or disappointment, or despair. These are a Jedi's true enemies. Did you meet any of these today?"

"Yes...I did. " he turned his face away and closed his eyes, hiding the inexplicable swell of moisture which collected on his lashes. Gradually, the fire in his limbs began to ebb away, to be replaced by a numb heaviness. The remedy pushed and tugged at his mind, clouding his thoughts. He had indeed met shame and despair, and very nearly drowned in them. How did that count as success?

"You met them, but you conquered them," Qui Gon said softly. "To complete the task given you, even in the face of defeat and shame and the weight of your own failures…to choose duty even when you are in despair: that is true self mastery. Do you understand?"

Obi Wan turned back to him, blearily, puzzling over it. Qui Gon was not disappointed. He was pleased. The failure was somehow a success. He didn't truly understand…he was too tired to think, to feel, even,…but Qui Gon seemed certain. That would have to suffice for now.

"Yes, master," he mumbled, drifting toward irresistible sleep.

There was a breath of laughter, and a small tug on his braid. "You did well, Padawan. I am proud."


	2. Chapter 2

**The Field Trip**

* * *

><p><strong>Day 2<strong>

Bright yellow light filtered through the thermal shelter's roof in an aura of diffuse warmth. Dust motes floated in the golden swell, tracing a silent dance in some complex synchrony beyond sentient understanding. The sharp scent of a burned out fire, of wood turned to black ash now cold, wandered slowly through the drowsy air.

"Well, are you going to be on your way, or do you intend to sleep all day?' A deep, mellow voice inquired nearby.

Obi Wan jerked fully awake, propping himself onto his elbows. The lazy golden light shifted into stabbing lances of fire and the dust motes smeared into a blur. He drew in a hissing breath and choked on the acrid wood smoke in the air. He squinted cautiously about, ignoring the headache. Thermal shelter. Camp. They were camping….on Tanaab 4. A field trip.,,,Memory flooded back. He leapt up onto his feet, yelling.

"Master!"

Qui Gon only chuckled. He remained kneeling in meditation position to one side of the low-roofed tent.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

The older Jedi merely smiled in that infuriating, noncommittal manner of his, and motioned at the unpacked gear, the scattered clothing, the shelter and its glow unit. "It's almost meridian. You'd better pack."

Obi Wan shot him the most venomous look he could muster, and then scrambled outside for some fresh air. Vertigo seized him and shook his insides. He stumbled a few paces away, found a clump of bushes, and was quietly and efficiently sick. Kneeling, drawing in the Force to recenter himself, he reached out into the empty landscape. Nothing. Morbidly curious, he prodded at one or two of his healing firebeetle bites. They were scabbed over, still tender, but not so bad as yesterday. The fever was gone, though headache and nausea were not appealing replacements.

A few more long breaths and he felt ready to deal with his master again.

"They are long gone," he scowled at Qui Gon when he re-entered the shelter. "And they've taken the ship with them. You're stuck with me unless you wish to sit here a few days until they get back."

The Jedi master only raised an eyebrow, so Obi Wan threw on his tunic and set about packing their gear with a brusque irritability.

"Temper," Qui Gon reproved mildly, not offering to help. He rose and moved outside the shelter, calmly observing the proceedings.

"How long was I asleep?" the Padawan demanded, breaking down the tent with ruthless energy, and reducing it to a small roll. The gear he smashed into the survival pack with deadly precision. This he slung over his back with few colorful expressions he had learned from a Phindian acquaintance.

"Language," Qui Gon warned. "You were out cold for a solid fourteen hours."

Obi Wan hoped his feeling of hopeless rage at this statement did not show in his face; the disastrous delay was Qui Gon's fault - though he would never go so far as to outright accuse the tall master. He clenched his fists and turned his gaze away, to the craggy line of hills which divided the peninsula from the swampy lowlands below.

"I'm afraid that local remedy for the beetle venom was a bit more powerful than I anticipated. Though doubtless effective, it seems to have a kick like fortified Corellian brandy," Qui Gon remarked.

The young Jedi ran both hands through his short, gritty hair. His head hurt; his stomach was displeased with him; and his master was driving him steadily toward the Dark Side. The prospect of a grueling day-long march across the rolling plains of Tannab, and whatever else lay beyond those distant hills, made his heart sink. But that was the appointed task for the second day of this blasted trip: get from point A to point B before nightfall. He sighed and started tramping over the empty, dry landscape. Let Qui Gon follow if he would.

A steady two-hour hike, heading steadily upward into the hills, had a very salutary purgative effect. By the time the gentle hillocks of waving grass and low brush had given way to rockier, barren soil littered with huge boulders, Obi Wan had sweated off both the headache and the foul mood. He began to feel a thread of remorse for his snarling disrespect earlier. Casting a glance over his shoulder for the first time since he set out, he spotted Qui Gon easily keeping pace with him, a long stone's throw away. He sighed and slowed down a bit, edging along a cliff face that looked as though a giant hand had sheared chunks off it with a blunt tool. He threaded his way among the huge detritus, the slabs broken off the abrupt, thrusting faces of the cliff, and paused in a tiny hollow encircled by several flat boulders and graced with a skeletal lantern tree, now bedecked with dry and rattling seed pods.

The survival pack dropped to the ground, and a swift Force-push sent the dried and fallen branches and grit flying off the tops of the flat rocks, creating a more or less clean surface. The tree's lacing branches provided a semblance of shade from the beating afternoon sun. Qui Gon strolled into the clearing a few minutes later and settled himself cross-legged on one of the low, flat rocks.

Obi Wan drained a bottle of water in one long pull, wordlessly handing another to Qui Gon. Wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, he turned his gaze upward to the looming cliff-tops, and considered his position, the remaining distance, the time of day. Emotion wrung away by exercise, he came to the obvious conclusion with an almost dispassionate clarity.

"We won't even be halfway there when night falls. I needed to start at _daybreak."_

"Then it is fortunate you are not traveling alone today as anticipated," Qui Gon responded. "Tanaab is not a pleasant place after dark."

"I wouldn't require a traveling companion had I started _on time,"_ Obi Wan insisted. "You could have woken me, master. It wouldn't have been a violation of the rules."

"Weep not for the past," Qui Gon advised with a shrug, rummaging in the pack for something edible. "Besides, it isn't my role to act as your personal valet." He produced some protein sticks and a powder that could be mixed with water to replenish vital biocompounds.

They ate the completely unappetizing meal in silence.

"I don't suppose there is another way around or through these hills," Obi Wan wondered aloud when they had finished.

"Again, this is your exercise. I am merely here to ensure that you don't; try to get yourself killed again. You have a remarkable talent for it."

"Thank you. I try my best to do honor to your teachings."

Qui Gon raised an eyebrow. "Impudence is not included in the standard curriculum for survival training," he said.

"Perhaps the Temple masters never went on a trip with you, master."

The tall man fixed his apprentice with a stern look. "You are allowing yourself to be distracted by this amusing, but irrelevant, conversation."

"Yes, master. I shan't pay any further attention to you." Smirking, and jumping up to stand the nearest boulder, the young Jedi focused on the problem at hand. The second night's rendezvous was twenty or twenty-five klicks from the first camp, and lay on the other side of the Ba-Tanaab ridge. The trek would involve an arduous climb down the opposite, much steeper side of the hills. A holo-map which he had been permitted to examine for twenty short minutes before departure had depicted a sheer drop into treacherous bogs. And the few tidbits of information he had hurriedly gleaned from the Archives had told him that Tanaab 4 was infamous for its ferocious and predatory fauna. As he now knew from experience. There was also the problem of navigating a safe course through the swamp in pitch darkness….but that was thinking too far ahead.

"Have you formed a plan?" Qui Gon prompted.

"You must have patience," Obi Wan countered, dead-pan, as he picked up the survival pack and set off into the hills again. Qui Gon fell in beside him as they picked their way over the uneven terrain toward the massive jumble of boulders which marked the true ridge crest.

"Seventh precept," Obi Wan said after a while, as the dramatically increasing slope slowed their pace. "Use every resource at your disposal."

"Very wise."

"I happen to have _you_ at my disposal, master. I wasn't permitted access to detailed geoscans or biosurveys of this region before we left. But you were. What are the strongest and swiftest animals in the hills?"

"What makes you think I studied such information?" Qui Gon challenged mildly.

"You were prepared for the firebeetles. Therefore you made a thorough study of the terrain and any possible obstacles. Besides, you _always_ do before a mission."

"Perhaps I _do_ know a great deal than you about the possibilities here. But why would I willingly answer your question?"

"Because you want to survive, master. Any sensible person in your position would be eager to share his expertise with me."

Qui Gon laughed a little at that. "Very well. I see I shall be subjected to your eloquence until I cooperate. The strongest and deadliest predator is the pychuta. The only beast capable fierce enough to defend itself against this predator is the mountain tharex. You would do well to avoid both these creatures, if you don't want to get yourself killed."

"I thought that was my specialty."

It took the remainder of the day to gain the true summit of the hills, a craggy height from which the entire peninsula could be seen, stretching desolate to the ocean. A deep fog had settled on the far side, blocking the unknown land below from view. Here, far above the swirling mist on one side, and watching the evening shadows of the hills creep toward the sea upon the other, the Jedi rested and ate another utilitarian meal. They donned their cloaks and drew them close about their bodies as Tanaab's daytime heat again gave way to a chill night. A sharp wind picked up and whistled through the darkening masses of rock on every side. The shadows quickly deepened to unrelieved black. Only a few stars peeped through the veil of clouds above. The night seethed with peering eyes, scuttling bodies, rustling grass. The hills came alive under cover of darkness.

Obi Wan crept toward the cliff's edge and peered over, as the last rays of the sun beat upon the flat expanse of rock below. Here there was a sheer drop into the fog swirling below. Tiny ledges jutted out here and there- a natural but extremely treacherous stairway. He felt confident in his ability to descend the contorted path in daylight - he had practiced on the most difficult of climbing walls for years - but in pitch darkness? He supposed it was no different than scaling the same wall blindfolded. Still, this was no Temple training circuit. Here, one slip or miscalculation as he made his way down, and…

A warning tremor in the Force. He froze in place, obeying the prompting of instinct. Behind him, shrouded in the darkness between the rocks, a snuffling and snorting presence made itself both felt and heard. Turning, slowly, noiselessly, he peered through the murk. The outline of an immense animal suggested itself to perception, a heavy hoofed thing with immense curling horns crowning its head. Its hot angry breath escaped in grunts from wide nostrils. Shaggy coils of hair hung from its hide and trailed the ground.

Tharex. It could not be anything else. Several more of the beasts appeared behind the leader. Alarm and defensiveness swelled in the Force; the tharex were not pleased to discover him here, intruding on their customary resting place. The leader lowered his head, threatening.

Obi Wan's fingers brushed against the hilt of his saber, but he did not lift the weapon from his belt. It would be wrong to slaughter mere animals simply because he had unwittingly trespassed on their territory. Surely he could find some other way to avert the impending stampede. The tharex's fear spiraled outward, growing in intensity, a deep resonance in the Force. Their dim minds pressed against his, their brutish unease threatening to smother his far more delicate, more complex, thread of awareness.

Suddenly he knew what to do.

Extending both hands outward, relaxed, searching, he reached into the Force, and found the animals' minds. There could be no language-based compulsion with the tharex…but another suggestion, emotional or imagistic, perhaps? He touched the leader's odd, instinctual awareness, its murky blend of sense and unthinking reaction, and concentrated.

_Move away from here. Go the other way. We are dangerous. Go quickly. Flee._

For a long moment nothing happened. The tharex stamped and shifted nervously, the whites of their eyes showing in the gloom. Their breath was released in a grunting staccato... Obi Wan held on….should he push harder? Was this going to work?

Suddenly, the herd shuffled and snorted in unison. Their fear became sharp, panicked. The great bodies shifted and turned, in a jumble of hooves and rasping breaths, and they thundered away through the jutting faces of the cliffs, leaving a cloud of dust behind. The young Jedi wrinkled his nose at the lingering musty odor of their woolen hides.

He grinned. Not only had he done it, he had _overdone_ it.

"Obi Wan!" Qui Gon's shout of warning coincided with the blinding scream of danger in the Force.

A dark shape dropped from above, claws and fangs flashing pale in the darkness. The young Jedi rolled aside as the beast landed on soft feet, a long tail lashing behind. Obi Wan had just time to register that _this,_ and not his mind influence, had been the casue of the herd's retreat, before the enormous pychuta growled, crouching before him. His saber sprung to life and swung into a ready position as the predator gathered itself for a second spring. It was easily three times his weight, and every inch of its smooth dark skin rippled with muscle.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another shadow drop from a high perch onto Qui Gon; heard the hum and flash of his master's saber, and a horrible yowling rebound off the rocks. Then the pychuta sprang at him, and he was in desperate motion.

The beast flew forward, claws and teeth open to rip him apart. He spun, shifting his weight and hoping to cut its underside, but it twisted away in mid-air, as graceful as a silk ribbon on the wind. He came up to attack again, but the beast had turned and was diving for him already. He vaulted over its back, cutting down and missing. The creature was like quicksilver, flowing through the narrow space without effort. It jumped yet again, and he surged into ther attack, coming under its wide-spread limbs and striking hard into its chest. A bloodcurdling scream rent the air, and he was smashed backward under the weight of its body, the open jaws still seeking and finding his shoulder even as the thing spasmed in death.

He writhed beneath the weight, and summoned the Force with a gasp, shoving the carcass off his chest. He rose, panting. At his feet lay the severed head of the second pychuta, the edges still smoldering form Qui Gon's saber edge. The tall Jedi was at his side in two swift strides, kicking away the grisly spectacle as soon as he saw his apprentice's eyes fixed on its frozen snarl.

"Are you all right?" he asked, grasping Obi Wan's shoulder and then pulling his hand back when he felt the hot damp of blood.

"Mostly," the Padawan replied, through gritted teeth.

"You are injured. Let us call Master Pertha- he can pick us up."

Obi Wan shook his head, appalled. "No…no, master. I- we can… can keep going. I want to finish this."

Qui Gon drew in a long breath, and stood unmoving with arms crossed over his chest. "That is extremely unwise."

"I am _not_ giving up!" Pain eroded his control. He was _not_ going to fail twice in a row. He would at least walk into that camp tonight on his own legs, tardy but successful. The idea of a second defeat so soon after yesterday turned his stomach. He glared up at Qui Gon, though he could not see the Jedi master's face.

"I could order you to comply."

"You said this was _my_ exercise!" Obi Wan exploded. How dare Qui Gon use the same excuse to justify both hampering and passively neglecting to help him? It was intolerable. "I'm continuing. Now." He strode forward to the cliff's edge, gripping hard at the tear in his shoulder. It throbbed. So what? He crouched down, tugged at the creeper vines growing along the steep sides of the precipice. A sharp tug on the sturdiest of the creepers suggested that it would bear his weight. He breathed out, grasped the nearest with both hands, and dropped over the ledge, swallowing a scream as his wounded shoulder took his full weight. Bracing against the hidden rock with his feet, he gently lowered himself hand over hand. The twisting natural rope held.

Soon enough, he heard Qui Gon slither over the rim and join him, climbing down a second knotted twist of vine. He said nothing, only kept careful pace alongside his Padawan, whose rate of descent slowed steadily as he progressed. His shoulder seemed to be in agreement with Qui Gon about the folly of this enterprise. The climb down took what felt like half a standard year. Eventually they dipped beneath the surface of the fog layer; tiny cold droplets settled on their hair and garments and then steadily soaked through clothing. The survival pack began to drag at Obi Wan's good shoulder. His hands were slick with green grime from the vines, and slipped dangerously on the smooth surface, sending him rapelling downward many meters. His left arm and side begged for release form the prolonged strain. Staring downward, he could not judge how far away the bottom of the drop might be. He stopped, heaving deep breaths.

"Almost there," Qui Gon reassured him, no doubt sensing his worry.

Obi Wan held on, his left hand and arm going suddenly numb with exhaustion. His grip loosened, and he hung by one arm. He wrapped both ankles tightly in the dangling creeper below him, and clung to the cliff side. "How much further?" he asked, aware that he could not climb another meter.

Qui Gon paused. "A short drop. There's water below us, I think."

Obi Wan buried his face in the crook of his raised arm, trying to wipe sweat and fog droplets and grime and tears off in one sloppy stroke. He had to get down. He had to finish this.

He reached into the Force, tugged and pulled at the vines' supporting tendrils, the tiny places where the living plant had moored itself to the rock, and loosened their hold until the he was slowly dropping, sliding down the rock face. He heard Qui Gon mutter somthig under his breath, something Obi Wan had not heard before and thought might be a Toydarian curse. More and more tendrils were yanked free of the wall, and he picked up speed. Soon he was sliding rapidly down the cliff-face, in a shower of tumbling vines and falling leaves. A lurch, a sudden drop in to space, and he was falling through the air, calling on the Force to break his fall.

He plunged hard into cold stagnant water, aware of a second body hitting the surface a second after he did. He kicked upward and found that he could not move; his feet were mired in something heavy and soft, at the bottom of the pool. Slowly the ooze sucked at him, keeping his head below water. His fingers fumbled for the rebreather at his belt; with its assistance he could breathe – but not see. His hands tugged at the boots' straps, but with nothing to brace against for leverage, he made no progress. The sticky morass pulled him inexorably deeper, and all his struggles were in vain. He unbuckled the boots, and wriggled first one foot and then the other free, keeping them high above whatever slimy menace lurked below. With a pang of regret, he abandoned the boots to their fate and struck for the surface, finally breaking through into the clean air and shaking oily water out of his face.

"Master!" he called out, turning once in place, floating atop the misty swamp water.

"Here," Qui Gon 's voice called out through the darkness, a short distance away. There was a palpable thread of relief in the tall Jedi's voice; Obi Wan realized he had been under the surface for an alarming length of time. He swam steadily toward the sound and bumped into a tussock of muddy grass and tangled roots jutting out of the swap's surface. He clawed his way onto this uneven foothold, unsure at first whether it would hold his weight, and then dragged forward cautiously onto a damp rise of land beyond. Qui Gon's figure emerged from the gloom, held out an arm, and pulled him all the way up onto the tiny mass of mud and rotting plants.

They stood together in the center of the squelching island, a place where reeds had grown into a knotted mat where mud and grasses had settled. The unlikely sanctuary stank of rotting leaves and the bog's natural gases. Qui Gon drew forth a small glowrod from his belt pouches and snapped it, casting a small circle of light about them. He looked his Padawan up and down, then made a similar wry appraisal of his own muddy, begrimed person. They stood and dripped and shivered for a moment.

"I see you have lost both the survival pack and your boots," Qui Gon observed after a moment's consideration.

Obi Wan forced a grin. "Do I get extra points?"

But the tall man was not in a jesting mood. "This has gone far beyond the intended scope of the exercise, " he replied quietly. "It's time we called for help."

"But -!"

"Obi Wan. Recognition of limits is a vital skill."

"But….we're so close." He sank down into a crouch, shivering. Just past this swamp, and then a few more klicks, and…well… He pressed the heel of his hand against his torn shoulder. Just a few minutes' rest….there had to be a way to finish. He _had_ to finish.

Qui Gon sat down beside him. "We cannot stay here all night without shelter or medical supplies. The water is full of predators and the bog is treacherous. And you have no idea how to find the camp."

Obi Wan scowled ferociously into the black mists. "I'm willing to try."

"I am not. I am calling for Master Pertha to fetch us."

"No!" The young Jedi stood up. "You'll have to go without me. I'm _finishing_ this. I _won't fail._ Not again."

"While I am certain you would countenance being abandoned to the swamps as bravely as possible, the decision is out of your hands. As a referee, I am disqualifying you on grounds of physical incapacity. Now _sit."_

Obi Wan sat, eyes wide. Qui Gon seldom employed such a tone. He hugged his knees and rested his forehead against them, abandoning any hope of completing the challenge, much less making Qui Gon proud. The swamp stank and burped all around them. Qui Gon quickly entered a coded message into his comlink and left the beacon signal activated. Obi Wan stayed hunched in his angry ball, fighting temper and cold and exhaustion. As an hour rolled by at an agonizingly slow pace, his ire cooled into resentment and then indifferent sulleness. His shoulder hurt. He was cold. He was hungry. He was tired.

Eventually, Qui Gon stirred and moved closer. His arm draped over his apprentice's shoulders. "Given the late start," he said, evenly, "Which in all fairness was not your fault – you did very well. We made remarkable progress in the course of the day. The task simply couldn't be completed against such odds. Not every failure implies a_ mistake._ And sometimes it is far wiser to surrender than to persevere in a hopeless struggle."

Obi Wan nodded, without looking up. This field trip was going to either drive him mad or kill him.

"Meditate on it, Padawan. Today's lesson is an important one," Qui Gon said.

There was the slightest increase of pressure around his shoulders – the ghost of an embrace. Obi Wan shifted his weight almost imperceptibly, leaning very gently – almost not at all - into Qui Gon's side and uncurling a very, very little.

They sat marooned on their stinking island, in silence, until the illuminators of Master Pertha's small repulsorcraft appeared over the dark water, bringing promise of rescue and an inglorious end to another grueling day.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Field Trip**

* * *

><p><strong>Day 3<strong>

Master Pertha had the kindness to share his own shelter with them that night, though the aging Togruta Jedi insisted that they rinse and wring out their stinking clothing over the portable heating unit outside. Swamps left a lingering impression, he said. Qui Gon Jinn had the decency to rouse his young charge at an early hour the next morning, carefully re-bandaging the shoulder wound, even though it had mended well enough with the help of bacta and Master Pertha's healing skill. The other Padawans and their masters had the manners not to ask any questions as the group shared a hasty meal around the smouldering camp fire and prepared for the third day's adventures.

"Something a bit more conventional for you today," Master Pertha announced, almost cheerfully, clapping his golden hands together once. " A tournament!"

The Padawans murmured in surprise and appreciation. The tall Twi'Lek sitting on his chunk of log beside Obi Wan nudged the much younger boy in the ribs. "There you go, Kenobi. You can show us a thing or two today."

He offered the older Padawan a small smile of gratitude. Feld Spruu, a lean twenty-something with a very dark blue complexion and headtails as thick as his muscle-knotted arms, was by far the oldest and strongest of the group, the likely winner in any contest based on battle skill alone. His encouragement was given without condescension. Feld was surely due to be knighted soon; his participation in this trip must simply be a warm-up for a more serious period of preparation for the Trials.

"The first round will be a blind exercise, in the stand of trees yonder." Master Pertha indicated a cluster of tall copi trees growing on a swell of land a half-klick distant. "You will be playing against the seeker droids. You are expected to evade the droids, and to hit them if possible. Your sabers should be set to lowest power; the droids are set to full stun and will show no mercy," he concluded serenely.

"That's fair," another of the Padawans muttered under his breath. Obi Wan studied Ky Shinshee sideways, under cover of fiddling with his weapon's settings. Ky was four years his senior, and well-known in the dojo as a formidable swordsman. His dark braid was marked halfway with a black band – Ky's first master had been killed during an uprising on Helios. Some said that the Padawan had never been the same. Certainly Master Ta-Soto, standing gravely behind the circle of eager apprentices, looked as though he had heard the last remark and strongly disapproved. Obi Wan's eyes flicked over to Qui Gon, who met his gaze with a tiny sideways glance of his own and an admonitory frown, a reminder to pay attention to the present moment.

He looked away, only to find Ky Shinshee staring back at him, all too aware that he was the topic of Obi Wan's speculation.

"It's…better than I hoped," the latter improvised, seeking to deflect a confrontation. "I thought we would be blindfolded _and_ unarmed."

Ky's stern face reluctantly melted into a smile of humor, and he turned away, placated.

They stood to move toward the assigned location of the first contest. Feld Spruu fell in beside Obi Wan, flashing a white grin, striking against his blue skin. "In Twi'Lek, my little friend, we would call you _fala di konimi._ One who laughs in death's face." He slapped the younger Padawan on the back. "I will keep an eye on you today, Obi-Nobi." He strode past, chuckling at his own cleverness.

"I see you've made a new friend," Qui Gon observed, appearing from behind.

"Yes, master." They walked easily through knee-high grass, over springing turf. The land this side of the Tanaab ridge was much more fertile than that of the barren peninsula beyond. "Though I'm not sure what he meant by that last bit."

"He intended a compliment," Qui Gon smiled. "You handled Ky Shinshee well. He is upset because he currently is last in the standings – well, except for you, of course. Sometimes an innocent exercise such as this can unearth hidden flaws, or strengths."

Obi Wan glanced up at the tall Jedi, wondering how many more hidden flaws he had, yet to be unearthed by this _innocent exercise._ He was seized, for a fleeting instant, with a desire to run back to camp and refuse to participate. But that would be unbecoming….and surely his fortunes were bound to change? A tournament was, as Feld had hinted, much more in his line. Squared off in competition with other beings rather than nature itself, he felt the Force as his ally, a sure guide, an inspiration. Perhaps today would after all be his day. He would not reflect poorly on Qui Gon yet again.

They finished the march across the short distance to the stand of trees, a grove of smooth trunks set close together amid a deep carpet of their own fallen leaves and strips of papery bark. The seeker droids were released into the forest, and quickly disappeared from view, hovering high and low as they sought vantage points within the mottled terrain. The masters fixed blindfolds in place and murmured words of advice and encouragement.

Qui Gon, of course, had a rather unusual piece of counsel to offer. "The way to _win_ this contest is to worry only about yourself, and to ruthlessly ignore the plight of others," he advised in a low tone.

Obi Wan's mouth popped open. "But…master…"

"Off you go." The tall Jedi gave his Padawan a small shove between the shoulder blades and stepped back to watch events unfold. Obi Wan stumbled forward into the soft mulch, appalled at the advice he had been given. It violated every pricinple of Jedi teachings he knew. It made no sense. It was…wrong.

The copi grove was quiet; the mat of dried and rotting leaves and mulch muffled their footsteps. The eight young Jedi fanned out, on instinct. The droids would have a harder time tracking down multiple targets. Obi Wan kept his saber in his hand but not activated. He used the Force to sense the trunks of the trees around him, the flitting animals and birds that scattered through the branches overhead, the distantly whirring droids. He could feel the position of the other Padawans, and the presence of the masters on the outside of the irregular circle of trees. He moved slowly, patiently, keeping his focus spread out in a wide net around him.

A seeker approached from the right, and above. His saber buzzed to life and deflected the stunning bolts it fired at him. The droid lowered its position; he rolled aside and then leapt, gaining extra momentum by springing off a tree trunk. He sailed over the droid, turning a somersault, and slashed downward, striking the metallic carapace squarely with the saber's edge as he did so. The droid crashed to the soft earth, and Obi Wan made a somewhat slippery landing beside it.

One down. Footsteps nearby. He melted away into the trees – someone else would only bring more droids. He crouched down, ready to flee, and listened. Another droid – no, a pair of droids – descended into the clearing he had just abandoned. The Padawan who had been unfortunate enough to just enter the open space cursed under his breath. There was the thrum and sweep of a saber, and the sound of rapid-fire shots form the droids. ObI Wan could sense the desperation of the fight, the two seekers circling round, attempting a simultaneous attack from two directions. He tensed.

Qui Gon had said to worry only about himself.

A bolt slammed into an exposed root near his foot. He drew back another pace or two. The battle intensified. He knew with certainty that the Jedi in the clearing could not defeat both droids, not in the open. Why didn't he run? He wanted to shout at the older student not to be stupid, to find better cover, to lead the seekers deeper into the trees. But Qui Gon had told him to worry only about himself.

The battle drew nearer. He would either have to run himself, or…

He leapt out of hiding, saber whirling. The nearest droid targeted him, sent three bolts in quick succession at his chest. He angled his saber minutely, heart hammering. Accuracy, not power. Control, control…two of the the three bolts slammed back into the droid. It spun in place. He jumped, slashed, brought the thing down at his feet. A moment later the beleaguered Padawan behind him had dispatched the second one.

Obi Wan smiled, reaching out a hand to feel for the other's arm….but his gesture was slapped away angrily. Hard fingers reached up and tore off his blindfold. He found himself staring up into the bright, dark eyes of Ky Shinshee.

"Had I wished for your _help,_ I would have asked for it," the tall Padawan growled at him. "I had the situation under control. Go find your own droid, Kenobi."

Obi Wan blinked. "I…thought you might need assistance." His own temper rose within him, and he sucked in a deep breath, leashing his tongue.

"A muscle leapt along Ky's jaw. "Thank you for your concern," he said tightly. "This is a competition, not playtime in the crèche."

"There's no need to be rude," Obi Wan warned him. He should walk away. Another droid was bound to find them here unless they moved. Qui Gon would not approve if he were caught bickering with another student.

Ky shrugged dismissively. "I did not mean to offend you. But this is a serious exercise for some of us. _My _master will not come rushing to save me if I fail." His mouth thinned into a hard line, and he sprang away into the top of a nearby tree, swiftly disappearing into the sparse foliage.

Hands shaking, Obi Wan re-fastened his blindfold and set off in the opposite direction. He was sure the seeker droids's auditory scanners would pick up his indignantly drumming pulse, the harsh release of breath as he struggled to forget Ky's barbed remark. Focus, focus.

He should have worried only about himself, as Qui Gon had said. Blast it.

The game of hide and seek continued for nearly an hour. He wove an erratic pattern through the trees, avoiding other encounters, slipping into shadow, into invisibility, as the seekers passed. Now and again he heard a yelp of pain and a muffled thud as a droid found its target. Mist rose off the soft undergrowth as the sun rose and warmed the air. One droid tried to ambush him from behind; he ducked, rolled under it and Force-pushed it into a tree with such violence that its armored shell cracked. He wondered whether he might be penalized for excessive force, and left the sparking droid sputtering between the roots of a tree. He heard the sound of ricocheting bolts, another yell, and then silence. How many of them were left? How much longer would they continue? The exercise was not over until the referees gave a signal.

He crept through the trees, straining to perceive the remaining droids. The trees opened into another small clearing. Someone else was here too.

"It's just we two," the other Padawan whispered. He recognized Feld Spruu's voice.

"Let's wait for them here," ObI Wan suggested. "I think there might only be two left." He placed himself back to back with the tall Twi'Lek.

"Good idea," Feld agreed. His Force presence was a calm current, a powerful river. Obi Wan relaxed, the knot of resentment in his gut loosening. Feld and he could take down the remaining droids together.

The first seeker hovered in from high above, raining down stun blasts at the pair of Jedi. They parried and dodged, sending the energy packets bouncing into trees and the ground in a furious pattern. The leaves underfoot smoked, white tendrils coiling up here and there where a blast had struck. Feld moved in to attack the droid, leaving Obi Wan to cover him. They worked together, without needing to say a word, driving their attacker back and down. Feld was nearly within striking range when the second seeker buzzed into the clearing. Almost at ground level – and moving fast toward Feld's feet.

Without thinking, Obi Wan dived low and rolled in front of it, dealing a sizzling backhand to its carapace. The droid deactivated and rolled away. Feld closed with the first droid, which fired off one last blast at his distracted companion before it was smashed out of the air.

The bolt hit Obi Wan in the thigh and sent him sprawling.

Feld was by his side in a moment, gently shaking him. "Come on," the Twi'Lek muttered. "You will be all right in a moment." He gently removed the younger Jedi's blindfold, leaned over, his brown eyes full of concern. His headtails twitched a little. "Do you always sacrifice yourself to save the competition?" he inquired.

Obi Wan managed to inhale. His diaphragm was in a tight spasm, and he could not speak. No mercy, indeed; the stun bolt had been powerful. His leg and one side were completely numb.

Feld pulled him upright. "Well, I must thank you in any case," he grinned. "I owe you one, my little friend. Hm? For being stupid enough to save me."

They limped out of the clearing together, slowly, and emerged on the west side fo the miniature forest to find the remainder of the group waiting. More than one of the Padawans was still on the ground, recovering. Master Pertha crouched over Ky Shinshee, apparently still trying to revive him. Qui Gon's eyebrows rose when he saw the victorious pair approach.

"We took out the last two droids because he covered my back," Feld explained to the Jedi master. "Although he could have let the thing take me down and then finished off the last one himself. It is an honor to fight together." He transferred Obi Wan's weight to Qui Gon, and departed with a bow and another brilliant smile. His own teacher, Master Droo Tallas, waited patiently a short distance away.

"I see you did not heed my advice," Qui Gon remarked to his Padawan.

"I try, master," Obi Wan gasped.

* * *

><p>After a brief rest and a chance to wolf down food and water, Master Pertha led them to a grassy stretch of field lying beyond the copi tree grove. Nothing marred the flat expanse: not a tree, not a shrub, not a boulder. A few lumps of stone thrust out of the grass, islands in a gentle sea. The wind softly stirred the tops of the field, sending seed-casings fluttering on the breeze. Thin clouds scuttled overhead, rushing to an unknown destination.<p>

"This is the location of the second round," Master Pertha announced. "The top four from this morning's exercise will cross this field, ending at the opposite ridge where that boulder sits." He pointed a short distance to a large misshapen hunk of rock. "The others will help me break down the camp and carry the supplies back here." Nobody dared to object.

"No droids?" Feld clarified.

"No droids. No blindfolds," Master Pertha smiled, his golden eyes glinting. "But be careful – the shortest path is not always a straight line."

With these enigmatic words, he signaled to the four disqualified Padawans and strode away back in the direction of their camp. The other masters spread out to the edges of the appointed field, their brown robes rippling in the steady cool breeze.

Left alone, the four remainig competitors stood for a moment at the edge of the dry grass field, feeling the wind blow gently in their faces. The Force carried a breath of danger to them, though the scene laid out at their feet was so peaceful, so bland.

"I have a bed feeling about this," Feld declared conversationally.

Obi Wan was privately glad that he was not the only one.

"Fierfek," Ky Shinshee cursed, and moved away a short distance. Thalle Hallas, the fourth Padawan, rolled her eyes at his retreating back and offered Obi Wan and Feld a sharp-toothed smile. "See you on the far side," she said, and started off across the field on a cautious diagonal vector.

Feld Speruu cracked all the knuckles on his long, blue fingers. "Ready, little friend?" He pointed over the grassy plain ahead. "You first!"

With a wry smile, Obi Wan moved forward. The earth was springy beneath his feet, but not a swamp as he had suspected. He placed each bare foot in front of the other, wincing a little at the sharp dried twigs and tiny pebbles underfoot. His boots would have been nice to have…but that was a unhelpful thought. The Force was shimmering with warning: images of the firebeetles flashed in and out of his mind in rapid succession. Through the soles of his feet he could feel the ground subtly tremble, like a hollow drum.

Hollow?

He jumped, far ahead, just as the earth crumbled beneath him and gave way. he heard the cascade of dirt and stones fall into a deep depression. He landed several metrs forward, and felt the earth again slide on his right. Willing every muscle into stillness, he ressed his palms against the ground, and waited. He extended his feelings into the soil, deep beneath the surface.

The entire field was tunneled and networked with pits and crossing paths, as though some ginat animal species had excavated a huge warren and then abandoned it. The soil on top supported grass, but was not thick enough to support anything heavier for very lng, except for a few tiny places where no underground digging had weakened the structure or where a subterranean boulder had blocked the excavation. The entire field could in theory collapse upon itself, burying them all alive – if they were not mindful.

He steadied his breath, and treid to find the other three Jedi, but he sensed only a general unease and confusion. None of them were moving, now. Apparently they had all come to the same dreadful conclusion. Vaguely he wondered if there were firebeetles waiting below, and then banished the thought with an act of will. Fear was a distraction.

Creeping forward with painstaking caution and slowness, testing each step, crouching on feet and hands like a prowling animal, he threaded his way across the field. Presently, there was no firm spot to be had. A bit of rock jutted out of the earth many meters ahead; it was the likeliest place to land. Calling on the Force, he propelled himself onto it and landed in a crouch. The rock was barely wide enough to hold him. He balanced and considered his position. There was nothing solid around him – he was trapped on an island of safety in a wide sea of danger.

He waited, feeling the wind pick up speed and cool his skin. The sun was sinking past meridian now, and the horizon was filling with dark ominous pillars of cloud, over the ocean. He stood and gazed at the finishing point. It was much too far away.

Then, as though in delayed response to his previous scrambling motion, the ground all around him in a wide circle collapsed, a tremendous crashing of stone and dirt. A great dust cloud billowed up, choking him. There was a cry of horror and surprise; one of the other apprentices had fallen into the swiftly widening trap. He watched in dismay as the sinkhole around him spread outward until seemed to swallow the whole field. As the dust cloud settled a little, he perceived that he was now alone atop a spire of rock. The pit fell away on all sides, a breathtaking drop into dusty darkness.

"Kenobi!" a voice called out across the space, a little ahead of him. "I am on solid ground. Jump to me."

He could not see Feld's position through the dust-laden air, but he gathered energy and made the leap, sailing through the opaque clouds toward Feld' voice. He landed hard on another rocky ledge. Feld's hand grabbed his arm as he teetered.

"There. We are even," the Twi'Lek decided, dusting off his friends tunics with a grin. They edged forward together, on their bellies. Feeling their way across what meandering bridges of land remained, crawling like worms toward the boulder which marked the end of the course. They froze in place as the earth bagan to crumble again, opening beneath their hands and feet in a slow avalanche. Skidding back, they watched as another ton of dirt cascaded into the depths.

Feld muttered something in his native language. "This is crazy. _Sal te mi phroni,_ I tell you. What son of a gundark makes this stuff up?" he asked, running a grimy hand over his headtails.

Obi Wan shrugged. 'Masters who were traumatized by similar experiences as Padawans," he guessed.

Feld nodded grimly. "Yes," he agreed solemnly. "Perpetuating the cycle of abuse, that's it, Kenobi. Lets' get the hells out of here though, hm?"

"Help!" a voice called out from the depths of the pit.

Feld's forehead creased. "That's Shinshee," he said. "Come. Our task is to get across. The masters wil help him out."

Obi Wan hesitated. He thought he heard a chittering sound, the rustling of thousands of tiny armored bodies, the scrabbling of pincers and legs. A hot flash of terror traveled down his spine. What if…?

"Help!" Ky called again.

"What are you doing, crazy one?" Feld demanded, readying his cable launcher. "One clear shot and we are at the finish."

Obi Wan shook his head. He dropped onto his belly and peered into the abyss, where he could but faintly make out Ky's figure through the swirling dust. He fixed his own cable securely to the rock on which they stood. Feld Spruu shook his head and then sent his cable flying in a wide arc across the chasm to the boulder appointed as their goal. In a moment, the line tightened and Feld began a tightrope walking exercise across the pit, his balance unerring.

For a moment, it was tempting to simply follow Feld. He would be assured of second place, of continuing in the competition. But he could not, would not, leave anyone to the horrors of the beetles. Surely there were some down there. Even Ky Shinshee, though he was bitter and unfriendly, did not deserve to face such an ordeal. Nobody did. He watched Feld steadily retreat for a moment, and then turned, slid over the edge of the pit, and rapelled his way down to its soft, crumbling bottom.

The older Padawan gaped at him in astonishment when his bare feet hit the soft dirt below. The sides of the pit were riddled with small holes, with dark openings leading into the depths. Obi Wan's flesh crawled.

"What in hells' moons are you doing?" Ky demanded.

"I know you don't want my help," Obi Wan told him. "But there are firebeetles in this region. Down here, likely enough. Climb up my cable."

The dark haired youth studied him intently. For a moment he though Ky would explode again, denouncing him for his condescension, or insulting him. But in the end all he said was, "Very well."

Ky was a strong climber. He ascended the narrow line swiftly, hand over hand. When he reached the summit, he leaned over the edge. "This isn't an exercise for younglings," he called down.

"What do you mean?" Obi Wan answered. But he did not have to wait for a response. The slack end of his cable was tossed down, coiling in an untidy heap at his feet. The grappling implement had been severed. "Ky!" he shouted in outrage.

"See you at camp later," the older boy shouted as he disappeared.

And now he was the one stuck at the bottom of a vast pit, one lined with countless dark gaps and crevices. Out of every opening he expected to hear and see the beetles swarming. His breath tightened in his chest. Fear mingled with anger. His heart throbbed unreasonably hard. Focus. Focus.

It was just a pit. He could climb out. He dashed forward, through the soft heaps of earth, over the tumbled masses of crumbling rock. Not far away was the edge, a steep wall, dust and grit still avalanching down in tiny rivulets along its jagged sides. It was deep – a bit far to jump, but not impossibly high. He could climb. Pushing his toes into the yielding dirt and curling them inward, digging himself a tenuous foothold, he started carefully up. His hands similarly gripped into crumbling earth. Slowly, carefully, he inched upward, pressing his chest against the sliding grit. If he did not move too much, if his weight was not too great…

It collapsed atop him, tumbling him to the bottom in a shower of filth and pebbles. He rolled away, the sound of the bouncing rocks and falling dirt so like that of the beetles. He looked up again, and cold panic seized him. There, and there – black bodies peeking out of the wall, issuing in threes and fours between cracks and crevices, their pincers already moving in a mesmerizing rhythm. Obi Wan backpedaled, hand gripping hard around his saber hilt.

His breath came ragged. He must focus. Fear leads to anger, to the dark side. There is no passion, there is serenity. They were only beetles, for Force's sake. Focus.

Qui Gon's head appeared far above, over the rim of the soft precipice.

He almost cried out in relief. "Master!" he yelped, wincing at the unseemly cracking in his voice. "There are more firebeetles."

"I see them." Qui Gon answered, not moving. "You had better move quickly, before the swarm emerges from the tunnels. Get up the wall, here." His arm indicated a place just to the right, a sheer drop where a protruding bit of stone here and there provided a sort of natural ladder. None of these tiny ledges were wide enough to provide a launching point for a leap, but they at least would not crumble beneath his weight.

The wall was dotted with beetles.

"No," he breathed. He couldn't do it. Why didn't Qui Gon help him?

"Padawan!" Qui Gon barked. "Now."

Beetles were squeezing out of cracks at ground level, oozing out of the soft walls like blood from a slow wound. Memory exploded within him, constricting his chest, numbing his limbs. The howl of terror began to whisper in his heart, burn icy in his veins. Sobbing he stumbled to the wall, gripped the soft earth with his hands, placed one foot one the nearest bit of rock. It was jagged, and cut into the skin. He lifted upward, reached for the next handhold. A beetle sat upon it. A flick of the Force sent it tumbling away. He grabbed the shard of rock and pulled, his toes seeking another place. They sank into a natural indentation in the face of the wall. He pushed up. Something crawled across his foot, nipped hard at the exposed flesh.

He screamed. It was most unbecoming. But he kept climbing.

Higher up, there were beetles scouting out the soft face of the pit. He closed his eyes and dragged himself upward, teeth gritted. A small body fell between his tunics and his chest, writhed, clambered, sank its pincers into his navel and gnawed. He could not let go of the handholds to dislodge it. He jammed his torso brutally against another piece of rock, crushing the intruder against his skin. With a groan, he dragged upward again. Something bit his left foot, his right foot, his shin. Two somethings were crawling down his back. One was in his hair. He climbed, and climbed. One was ascending his braid, toward his ear. It chomped hard on the tender flesh it found above his collar. He flicked it away with his hand as he reached for the next protruding rock.

Something grabbed both his arms around the elbows, and he unleashed an awful battle cry, desperate strength flooding into his limbs as he tried to writhe free, nearly losing his balance.

"Easy!" Qui Gon shouted, displaying rare emotion. In a moment, he had hauled his Padawan over the edge onto safe ground. Obi Wan thrashed, clawing the remaining beetles off his body, rolling to his feet and glaring at the Jedi master, the waving grass, the dark clouds gathering on the horizon. Fury flooded though him in the wake of revulsion.

"Ky Shinshee!" he choked out. "He – he – I helped him, and he –"

Qui Gon gripped him by the shoulders, his grey eyes hardening. "I do not wish to hear blame placed on others," he warned. "That is not worthy of you. Ky played by the rules of this game. As did Feld. You did not; indeed, you ignored my explicit advice to _worry only about yourself._ Your failure is not their fault."

Fury melted into something else. His gut clenched. It began to rain, heavy bitter droplets spattering over them and muddying the dust-laden grass beneath their feet. ObI Wan wiped his face fiercely. The rain spattered harder, the moisture running down his upturned face. Qui Gon still held him in place.

"I hate this," the young Jedi sobbed, past caring what Qui Gon thought of his outburst.

"I know," the tall man replied gently. "You are not accustomed to failure. I thought it might be wise to…explore it."

It began to pour.

"Yes, master," he managed, at last.

Qui Gon nodded, and they turned toward the campsite a short distance away. Obi Wan trudged across the sodden landscape beside Qui Gon, glad that the rain washed away and obscured the hot salty trails running down his cheeks.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Field Trip**

* * *

><p><strong>Day 4<strong>

The next day, it rained.

It was not a day in which rain happened to fall; it was a day on which the entire world, as far as the eye could see, was devoted to the singular purpose of rain. Tanaab's barren peninusula, the narrow ridge of hills which walled off its fertile plains from the wasteland, its ocean and distant mountainous heights – all were committed to the act of rain. The sky was a vessel for water, the earth a cup to receive it. It pounded and drove against the thermal shelters, as though an unending waterfall sought to flatten them beneath its deluge.

The Jedi simply waited it out. A few of the more restless Padawans took a marathon run in the rain, simply for the exercise. The masters meditated, or held lengthy philosophical discussions in the confines of the scattered tents. Feld Spruu entertained his friends with a long recitation of his recent misadventures on Yavin, and was mildly reproved for frivolity by his master. Ky Shinshee maintained a sullen silence, and spent the day dismantling and reassembling the ship's stabilizer array, under the watchful eye of his own teacher. Master Pertha made a brief expedition into the wilderness and returned with several fascinating specimens of venomous amphibians which only emerged during flood season. He and Qui Gon Jinn spent a happy morning admiring these rare and glorious manifestations of the Living Force.

Obi Wan slept. Then woke, and ate, and grumpily declined an invitation to admire the aforesaid glorious manifestations. He also declined an invitation to play sabaac with Qui Gon, on the grounds that he was quite done with endeavors that led inevitably to his own defeat. He also declined an invitation to curb his sharp wit and modify his tone to the respectful one befitting a young Padawan, whereupon he was summarily assigned three hours' intense meditation as punishment and cure. Afterwards, markedly subdued, he ate again and then – having nothing else to decline or otherwise occupy his attention – he went back to sleep.

And so the day passed.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 5<strong>

The sky was a brilliant blue-purple the next morning, scrubbed and scoured by the violent storm. The air still held the tang of lightning and the fresh scent of wet earth. Tanaab's pale sun warmed the group standing around Master Pertha at the edge of another boulder-strewn expanse of land, a jutting rise surrounded on three sides by the sea. Their transport sat at the far end of this promontory, gleaming in the morning light.

"Now," Master Pertha addressed the gathered Padawans. "This is the last day of our excursion. And it is designed to teach you something very important: the nature of failure."

Obi Wan sighed deeply.

"As you can see, the transport sits at the southern extremity of this smaller peninsula. That marks the boundary of our playing field. The cliffs," he swept his arm out to encompass the sharp outline of the bluffs, and the sea sparkling beyond them, "Are the other boundary. By nightfall, or before, I expect to see all of you on board again. When we are all safely together, we shall make the return journey to Coruscant."

There was a collective murmur of wistful regret. Many of them wished to stay here longer, on vacation from the rigors of Temple life. Obi Wan made a private mental note that many of his peers were a trifle barmy. A side effect of head injuries sustained in the dojo, perhaps. He glanced sideways, but Qui Gon was nowhere to be seen. None of the masters except Agrion Pertha were. They had been missing since dawn.

The old Togruta Jedi raised a hand. "Your masters have hidden themselves on this peninsula. As you can see, the terrain offers ample opportunity for concealment. Their task today is to capture you, by whatever means necessary, and to bring you back to the ship. I am told," he added with a flicker of a smile, "That prisoners will be assigned extra studies to complete on the journey home."

Stifled groans. A Jedi did not complain – but still...

"Your task is simple. You must evade your respective masters for as long as you are able. There will, of course, be no winners today. May the Force be with you."

Master Pertha bowed to them once and strode away, straight across the green swath, toward the waiting transport. His robe billowed gently behind him. On every side, boulders and chunks of stone cast crisp morning shadows. The Force rippled with a playful, ominous anticipation. The group of Padawans drew together a bit closer.

Feld Spruu made a rueful face and laid a hand on Obi Wan's arm. "I wish you the best today, Kenobi. I would not desire to go up against Master Jinn, myself."

"Neither would I," he admitted.

Feld nodded and cast his gaze about them in a wide circle, then departed at a long, loping jog, weaving between the tumbled stones and shadows like a blue ghost. The others quickly scattered also, intent on evading capture as long as possible.

Obi Wan sat down upon the damp earth, cross-legged. He breathed in. Out, banishing tension. In, gathering the Force. Out.

He had no doubt that Qui Gon would find him. There was no possible way he could avoid the immensely powerful and cunning Jedi master, even for a short time. _Recognition of limits is a vital skill._ What purpose was there, then, in running? A Jedi did not run or hide from the inevitable. He faced it, squarely. Serenely. Sometimes it could not be helped, and in such cases there was no fault or blame in defeat. _Not every failure implies a mistake._ He was not fool enough to think that he could match Qui Gon Jinn in such a contest. _Overconfidence is a failing indeed. _His only asset, if it could be counted as such, was his knowledge, his understanding of these truths. He had them already, before this last exercise began. And so, the purpose of the trip fulfilled, there was no reason for him to strive for impossible success. _Sometimes it is better to surrender than to persevere in a hopeless struggle._

He waited.

The sun rose slowly. He breathed. In. Out. Tanaab was beautiful…from a certain point of view. Failure itself could be graceful, serene. From a certain point of view. In. Out.

A hand touched the back of his neck, and the snap-hiss-thrum of a saber blade sounded just behind his shoulder. He had not even sensed the tall man's approach, so fatally perfect were Qui Gon's shielding skills.

"Master."

There was a pause. "Padawan. You haven't moved from your starting position."

Obi Wan watched the only wisp of cloud in the sky slowly dissipate, its ragged edges blurring into the endless lilac-blue of the sky. "I knew you would find me," he explained. "I can't beat you at this game. You said –"

The saber snapped as it deactivated. "I said what?"

Obi Wan bowed his head. "I knew I would fail today. So I have accepted it. I'm not…_fighting_ against it anymore. Isn't that what I'm supposed to learn from this?"

He heard Qui Gon's breath released in a slow deliberate stream. The tall man's shadow moved, fell across the bending grass, and then Qui Gon himself appeared before him, sinking onto one knee on the cool earth. The grass smelled sweet where it was crushed by his boots. The Force continued to gently shred the cloud overhead into misting fragments. It was warm, but the breeze was cool.

"I have never before known you to give up," Qui Gon said, at last. He sounded tired, perhaps even unsure of himself. Obi Wan did not meet his eyes. "My intention was not to break your spirit, Padawan."

The young Jedi fumbled with his saber hilt, and held it out. Qui Gon's broad hand closed around the comparatively slender hilt. The weapon was newly-made, the trophy and triumph of a recent trip to Ilum. It was discipline and strength and obedience and compassion all at once. "I surrender," Obi Wan said, simply.

Qui Gon stood up. The cloud's last tatters melted in the sun. The Force was shadowed with a thin veil of regret. "Padawan," the Jedi master began again, struggling for words, but he did not finish. He watched as his apprentice stood and then gestured toward the ship at the far end of the peninsula.

They walked in silence. ObI Wan trailed along, taking up the traditional position one step behind and to the left of his teacher. It wasn't their custom, but he stayed there anyway, meekly pacing behind the tall master, head down. An unvoiced melancholy tainted the Force around Qui Gon, slowed his habitually long strides. He seemed…disappointed. Guilty.

Master Pertha was outside the ship, eagerly poking in some insect hive formations in the rocky turf a short distance from the boarding ramp.

"Qui Gon!" he called out as they approached. "There appear to be _phyllasta cariolistus_ here…fascinating." His golden face creased in concern when he spotted the young Padawan lingering behind. "Have you hunted down your quarry so quickly? Alas."

The Jedi master spared a swift look over his shoulder, then nodded once. "I believe we are finished here on Tanaab."

Agrion Pertha looked solemn. "I see," he murmured. "You are the first back, of course. You may as well make yourselves comfortable. You will excuse me if I remain here – a chance to observe such phenomena in person is a rare blessing."

They climbed up the boarding ramp in silence. The ship was spacious enough, especially now when they were the only occupants. The aft cargo bay was fitted with a small brig – a convenient feature, useful when the vessel was taken on missions involving wanted criminals or other dangerous beings to be taken into custody. They paused before its entrance. Clearly, the charade of taking Padawans prisoner was to be carried out with great thoroughness. Obi Wan's shoulders hunched as he peered into the bland confines of the cell.

Qui Gon sighed and hooked both thumbs through his wide belt, gazing down on his Padawan. His mouth was thin, the faint lines in his forehead and around his eyes softened with concern. His grey eyes themselves seemed to look to the future, the past, and then to settle gently in the present moment. "Obi Wan, " he said, hesitating. "I think perhaps I have….overdone it, as you are so fond of saying. When we return to the Temple, I wish to discuss this trip with you."

"Yes, master." He still couldn't meet Qui Gon's gaze. He could feel his master's remorse and unease through the Force; the barely-contained emotion – so unlikely, so startling – tightened his own throat. He truly, truly, had not intended such a thing…

"I'm sorry, master."

A strong hand reached down, tipped his chin upward. "For what?" Qui Gon inquired, softly.

"For this." And he acted.

His Force-push sent Qui Gon tumbling into the open brig, and a smart snap of his palm against the control panel outside the door brought the shimmering energy barrier across the threshold, sealing it. Heart thundering against his ribs, Obi Wan paused only long enough to draw in two victorious, gasping breaths as he looked through the colored haze at his mentor.

Qui Gon had recovered instantly – but not fast enough. He stood a hands-width from the barrier, towering over his Padawan, his eyes full of shock and laughter and a dangerous light the young Jedi did not care to interpret. All self-recrimination and pity had fled the tall master's face; he seemed to scowl and wilt with relief at the same time.

"Impudent _brat,"_ he snarled, his eyes laughing.

Obi Wan offered a brilliant grin in reply and dashed forward to the cockpit. Master Pertha was still outside, absorbed in zoological bliss, unsuspecting. The boarding ramp hissed closed. The magnetic moorings released. Repulsors. Thrusters. Manual helm control. Obi Wan hated flying, but that didn't mean he wasn't competent. In less than a minute he had the ship off the ground and sailing serenely across the peninsula toward Tanaab's glittering sea. He rose high into the atmosphere, the cloudless gorgeous sky, the flawless heavenly purple-blue splendor of this lovely planet, and set the autopilot to make one complete rotation along this latitude, at an economical cruising speed.

Then he returned to the brig.

Qui Gon was kneeling in meditation posture behind the glowing energy field. His eyes opened when he sensed the younger Jedi's return. Obi Wan knelt down, too, across from him, on the other side of the barrier. The Jedi master nodded once, in acknowledgement or approval, and closed his eyes again.

Obi Wan closed his eyes too. It was peaceful here, far above Tanaab's wild, undulating surface. He breathed in. Out. Failure had many aspects, many lessons to teach. But it could also be a powerful ally. One just had to befriend it first.

In. Out. They rested in the Force together.

* * *

><p>Many hours later, Master Agrion Pertha was able to demonstrate his seldom-employed but still formidable negotiating skills to the bedraggled company of masters and Padawans who waited forlornly on the peninsula for their transport to return. The aging Togruta Jedi was able – after an extended bargaining session – to convince the young brigand who had stolen the ship and taken Master Jinn hostage that the common good outweighed his own personal ambitions. The terms were at last agreed upon: the ship was returned and Master Jinn released, in exchange for the liberation of all seven Padawan captives, and a universal revocation of the proposed extra studies for the journey home.<p>

Obi Wan stood respectfully to one side of the boarding ramp's open hatchway as the other Jedi filed their way inside. Master Pertha fixed him with a singularly penetrating gaze. He bowed deeply to the revered Togruta, his hands folded properly into opposite sleeves. Other masters and students ascended behind him, in ones and twos. None of them made eye contact. The masters' faces were stern. Ky Shinshee paused in mid-stride, stared at the young Padawan for a moment, and then scowled. Obi Wan was taken aback, but he held the older Padawan's disapproving glare without flinching. Ky's master did not smile as he passed, but gave Qui Gon a very odd look indeed. The tall man appeared not to notice. Feld Spruu came last, closing the hatch behind him. "You know what, Obi-Nobi," he said, conspiratorially, as he leaned in close. "They are either going to kick you out of the Order or stick you on the Council. Either way, Master Jinn will not be too pleased eh?"

Qui Gon saved him from making a reply. "Master Jinn," that person said dryly, "Is not _too pleased_ to be the subject of idle conversation."

Feld's lekku twitched as he made an apologetic bow. "I meant no disrespect, master," he muttered, and withdrew, still managing a surreptitious wink at Obi Wan as he disappeared into the forward cabin.

Qui Gon found space for them on a narrow passenger bench built into the curving bulkhead. Obi Wan sat beside his teacher, shifting a little to peer curiously through the open portal leading to the forward cabin and cockpit.

"They are avoiding me," he said, puzzled.

The tall Jedi chuckled and stretched his legs out into the aisle. "Yes. That was quite the stunt you pulled today."

The Padawan colored. "It was just an _exercise._"

"Hm." Qui Gon's gaze tracked idly over the white ceiling, with its blinking light panels and vent gratings. "Nonetheless, I think Master Pertha has half a mind to go before the Council with an official complaint about your insubordination."

"But, master!"

"Padawan." Qui Gon held up one finger for silence. "After you…ah…took advantage of my distraction – which , I might add, was a very cunning manipulation – what happened when Master Pertha contacted you?"

"He didn't seem displeased, master. He simply said that the exercise was finished because all the others had returned to the rendezvous point. Then he ordered me to return with the ship."

"And instead of complying, you told him you were open to negotiation."

Obi Wan nodded, a barely-suppressed grin revealing his dimples.

Qui Gon's eyebrows rose. "_After_ Master Pertha told you the exercise was finished."

The mischievous smile faded to an expression of stunned horror. "Oh," the young Jedi breathed.

"You overdid it," Qui Gon observed.

Obi Wan's fingers curled into the voluminous folds of his robe. He studied the scuffed deck matting. "I …thought I had succeeded today," he intoned flatly.

One corner of the master's mouth twitched upward. "Oh, you succeeded. In gaining the attention of others. Indeed, I daresay you will live in infamy from this day forward, as an incorrigible scoundrel."

The boy slumped a bit, though he kept his face carefully neutral.

Qui Gon patted his knee. "It's not so bad. I'm told the company is quite good."

Obi Wan looked up at his oft-denounced teacher, the Order's resident maverick and legendary rebel, and managed a faint smile. The company _was_ good. He supposed he could grow accustomed to infamy.

Qui Gon folded his hands into opposite sleeves and leaned back comfortably. "I expected far better from you, Padawan," he said sternly, the twinkle in his grey eyes in flat contradiction to his somber demeanor.

"I'm truly sorry, master."

The twinkle brightened into a gleam. "This trip was a resounding failure, I would say."

"Yes, master." Obi Wan imitated his mentor's posture, thrusting his own hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe, and settling back against the thinly padded bench.

Qui Gon glanced sideways at him, once, and gave the slightest nod of approval. The Force warmed with confidence and contentment. Obi Wan closed his eyes and relaxed into a detached serenity. So far as this trip was concerned, he was a complete failure.

It was good.

**Finis**


End file.
